WHEN ARCHITECTS turn their talents to
their own homes, critics tend to fall back on
clichés: a manifesto for new ways of living,
the apotheosis of an architectural philoso-
phy, or perhaps just cold and inhumane.
Such descriptions often hold water. The
limestone and cedar expanses of John Paw-
son’s family kitchen in Notting Hill are – as
you might expect – spa-like, interrupted
only by a Japanese cast-iron kettle, a few
walnuts and bleached Hans Wegner chairs.
Norman Foster’s retreat on the Riviera, now
sold, boasted a vast four-storey atrium that
replicated his corporate idiom – all alu-
minium, glass and white, right down to the
Eames lounger and Nomos table.
Strangely, the home of the greatest
architect of the 20th century does not sit
comfortably within these brackets. For the
last 35 years of his life, Le Corbusier lived
near the Bois de Boulogne, at the top of an
apartment block he designed in 1931 with
his cousin, Pierre Jeanneret. The Immeuble
Molitor – the first residential block with
façades constructed entirely of glass – is
restrained, retiring even, hemmed in by
Art-Deco neighbours that share its sym-
metry, bay window and roofline. Ambitions
to experiment with a steel structure fell
through, although some of the promised
internal flexibility remained. The building’s
east-west orientation, peripheral loca-
tion and sliding windows all fulfilled the
principles of La Ville Radieuse, delivering
unimpeded views of sun, trees and sky.
Le Corbusier’s two-storey penthouse
- which has just undergone a meticulous
two-year restoration – was far from con-
ventional, but perhaps not in the manner
one might expect. The Villa Savoye had
been completed that same year, a lucid cli-
max of Le Corbusier’s experimentations in
machine-age architecture. However, belated
success in winning lucrative commercial
commissions, including the Centrosoyuz in
Moscow and Immeuble Clarté in Geneva,
released Le Corbusier from his reliance on
domestic projects, which had dominated
his practice for a decade or more. He had
long been compelled to use luxury villas
as sales tools for his architectural prowess,
bending their forms to his own ends and
promoting the results with black-and-white
photographs of austere spaces in states of
immaculate perfection.
No such photography exists of Le
Corbusier’s penthouse. His newfound pros-
perity left him free to prioritize personal
need over public display, but also over
hardline experimentation. Although the »
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